Failing Upward

Chapter 24 (part 2): Reflection Nebula

I nodded again as I pulled him toward his room. I opened the door quietly, and he went through after. I turned and shut it, and I pressed him smooth against the door, face first. I raised his hands flat above his head, his palms open, both of us feeling the cool wood beneath. I moved my hands on top of his, entwining our fingers. My breath prickled the fine hairs on his neck, and his thighs warmed the front of my legs. As I pushed against him, he squeezed my hands then let go. I grasped his wrists and stretched them out spread eagle with mine against the finished wood.

"I've thought a long time today about wanting and needing," he said. "All your words last night about how much you loved me and what I mean to you, then I spoiled it by telling you I was thinking of changing my mind."

I brought our arms down to our sides, and my chest against his back, I felt our hearts beating.

"It's scary to want someone that bad," I acknowledged.

"When the serum takes hold of me, I just need . I have to have ."

"And what do you have to have now?" I whispered, my palms sweaty against his wrists. I kissed the back of his ear.

"You."

I leaned hard into him to hold him up, swallowing as he turned around to face me and crouched a bit.

"Yes," he moaned.

I closed my eyes and whispered his name. I knew what he meant. Sometimes it was all too much. As I rutted into him, I pressed my mouth to the door to squelch the strangled cry that threatened to erupt from the bottom of my gut. I loved this. I loved him. I wanted to scream it out loud.

"Sherlock..." I gasped. "You need to know."

My coarse stubble scraped rough and reckless across his neck. I opened my eyes, his face near. My chin scratched his nose as I kissed his eyelid.

"What?" he asked. "What do you want me to know?"

As I spread kisses across his brow, I tempered my voice. "I want you to know how much I care. I love you. With or without the serum."

I let go of his hands, then slid his jeans over his hips, got his jeans off, then threw off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. His hands dropped achingly slow, undoing my jeans.

"I'm going to turn around," he whispered.

I let go of his wrist and dropped my hands.

"John?" he asked. "I need to turn around."

I stepped back and he spun around, grabbing the back of his head and pulling his mouth to mine. I sucked at his tongue with the same abandon he'd used earlier that day. I loved the way I could make him tremble. He pulled back for a moment, his eyes growing wide and warm. I couldn't help but love him.

"I love you, too," he whispered.

I started to slide down my jeans when I heard my iPhone ringing on the floor. I kicked it— not the ideal solution, but it worked. It stopped.

Sherlock turned around.

"Now," I said mischievously, "what to do with you and this..." It wasn't a difficult choice to make. My thumbs gently pressed against his spine and my palms butterflied out, expertly finding the knots and loosening them. My hands drifted up and down his back, each pass trailing lower than the last until finally my thumbs pressed over his tailbone. He swallowed hard as I slowly kneaded inward, brushing close, exploring.

He whimpered, "John, please...The things one can do with cocoa butter and fingers. More."

A deep rumble washed over me like the waves on the lake. Sherlock navigated me, rolling his hips. With a little effort, Mr. Dexterity pulled my t-shirt up and over my head, letting it drop to the floor. "Who's a tease?" I asked.

"We both are."

I bit my lip trying not to burst out laughing. Then I heard music. A chiming. I thought, could it be the music of the spheres? But no, this time it was Sherlock's cell.

"It's in my jeans," he said apologetically. "Probably the damn road manager calling again. Ignore it."

"You know, this is the first time for half of me. I'm kind of like a virgin— " I said, as I nuzzled his neck, nipping him hard and making his moan. "It's like I'm touching you for the very first time."

Sherlock's deep laugh answered, and I brushed his damp curls off the back of his neck and blew over it. Sherlock shuddered.

"Please don't ruin the moment by reciting Madonna any more," he asked.

"No. But you seem tense. I needed to lighten the mood. Maybe a nice massage to help you relax? After the massage you gave me earlier this afternoon, it's the least I could do to return the favor."

"Yes, John."

Then I felt an odd vibration on my foot. What was this? Some new fangled contraption of Sherlock's? Or maybe some bizarre sensory stimulation Sherlock evoked? Then I realized, duh, it was Sherlock's cell again!

"Ignore it! More," he demanded.

"That's okay. It felt nice."

"If you want a vibrator, I can procure one far superior to my iPhone!" His voice shook and I noticed his head turning. Mine did too. Our eyes met in the dresser mirror. "God, yes! John! We look perfect!"

"We look obscene," I said.

I met his eyes there in the mirror, willing myself not to look away from the intensity that sparked within his depths. My throat constricted as I tried to speak, but words wouldn't come.

"Please, John."

I willed him to tell me with his eyes as I watched in the mirror. Eyelids fluttering, he licked his lips, then opened them; they begged me. If there was any doubt what type of nebulas we were, it was apparent now. His eyes as he pleaded. His brow creased, his eyes bright-green searing me. My eyes reflected his— one hundred suns burning, a mirror of bright blue heat. Between us, we expressed what we felt, that familiar warmth spreading until we would spontaneously combust. At last I found my voice.

"More?"

All he could do was nod and make me fall headlong into those light green eyes. It worked.Slow, steady.

I regretted not being able to kiss him at this angle, but reflected back to us from the mirror, we felt a far deeper connection. Pain and joy coursed through us. My lungs burned. I felt his pain ebb and as he shifted his weight— the heat from his eyes flickered like the stars we'd watched earlier. As he murmured he loved me, the sweat shimmered on his brow.

White heat spread through my veins, pulling, reaching, intertwining into his, so that the pull from my immortal heat connected us. He smiled just a little, building up to the moment when everything stops but our hearts. His hands moved and dug into my scalp, desperately hugging me to him. Oh, for a taste of his mouth! We were close, so close.

My chin scratched the back of his neck, and his fingers traced my face. In the mirror, he was flushed and beautiful.

This was a test of our sanity— seeing stars and mirror images. We came like that, spilling over, watching each other's eyes in a reflection of ourselves. We slid down the door on to the floor and held each other.

I loved this part more, feeling our pulses slow together. I loved his drowsy eyes and slack mouth and his arms of comfort.

I pulled him off the floor and to his bed. We collapsed like stars there. We rested like that and fell asleep.

And I woke to Sherlock's phone again, vibrating on the floor. Sherlock stirred, rolled over. "Must I get out of bed?" he grumbled.

I groaned, "Yes. Unless you want me to throw that phone against the wall."

His voice slurred with sleep as he rolled out of bed and answered. The transformation was immediate.

"Yes, I hear you," he bit out. I knew who it was without asking. He hesitated as he looked down at me.

"Moriarty," I said.

Sherlock closed his eyes and nodded.